I Wish It Didn't Feel Like This
by arysa13
Summary: Canon divergence for 1x01 - the bottle stops on Betty, not Veronica.


Archie is mesmerized by the spinning bottle. His gut churns, half hoping the bottle will never stop.

But then it does, and his eyes follows the direction of the neck of the bottle. It's undeniably pointed at Betty. His stomach drops and he flicks his gaze to Cheryl before Betty can meet his eyes.

"I guess it's pointing at Betty," Cheryl sniffs, giving her long red hair a flick. She looks less than pleased with the result. Obviously whatever scheme she'd been cooking up hasn't worked out in her favour.

Archie walks towards the closet in a daze, barely aware of Betty just behind him. And then the door slams shut behind them, startling him out of his stupor.

He swallows. He can't do this. Betty deserves better than some forced tryst in a closet. She deserves better than _him._ And what she'd said earlier, about them being a couple; he wishes he could give that to her, he really does. Only, he's pretty sure he doesn't feel that way about her.

But if there's one thing he's absolutely sure of, it's that he can't lose her.

"Betty—" he starts. She looks up at him and he pauses. His heart constricts for a moment.

"I know what you're going to say," Betty says, when Archie doesn't finish his sentence. How does she know? He doesn't even know what he was going to say. In fact, he's not sure he knows much of anything right now. The closet seems to be getting smaller.

"What?" he murmurs.

"You don't think we should ruin our friendship, right?" She steps closer. Archie's heart races. His head spins. She looks so pretty with her hair out like this, in her cotton candy coloured dress.

"Right," he agrees. At the moment he can't remember what his _actual_ objections are. But that seems like a solid one.

"But what if we make it better?" Betty continues. She's even closer now. Archie's eyes flick down to where she's toying with the bowtie hanging undone around his neck. He licks his lips. Something about being in a dark closet with no one watching is making his better judgement disappear.

Betty's hands slide over his shoulders to the back of his neck. "Let me show you?" she whispers, and he can hear the tremor in her voice. He nods dumbly. He watches as Betty leans in, closing her eyes as she presses her lips to his.

He doesn't respond at first. He's not expecting to feel anything. It's just a kiss. Just to prove to himself and to Betty that this is nothing. They're friends, and whatever fantasy she's conjured in her mind is just that: a fantasy. She doesn't actually want _him._

He shuts his eyes. Her lips are soft, nice. Just like her. But it's not until she starts to pull away that he actually _feels_ something. A tug, low in his gut that leaves him chasing her lips with his own. He kisses her back, hard. His hands find her waist, his fingers pressing against her skin in the cut-outs of her dress. She parts her lips for him, and her hands tangle in his hair. Her tongue meets his, and what little self-restraint he'd been holding onto is gone.

In an instant, he has her back against the shelves of board games behind her, and he's pressed against her in every place possible. She's more forceful than he would've imagined, had he let himself imagine it, and he wonders how long she's wanted this to happen.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he shouldn't be doing this. But with her tongue in his mouth, her hands clutching at him, desperately pulling him closer, it's hard to listen to that part of his brain.

It's not until he feels her hand drop from his hair to his crotch that he pulls back, the contact jolting him out of his lustful haze. Not because he doesn't want to go further. His whole body is yearning for her touch. But he suddenly remembers they're in a closet at Cheryl Blossom's house, and they only have seven minutes. The last thing he wants if for Cheryl to wrench the door open and catch them in the act. And then he remembers all the other reasons he shouldn't be doing this. He steps away from Betty, breathing heavily.

"What's wrong?" Betty asks. Archie swallows. He shakes his head.

"I can't do this."

She seems confused, but not offended. "Why?"

"Not here," he says. And then, because he doesn't want to lead her on anymore than he already has, "Not with you."

He can practically see the words stab into her heart. She looks like she might cry. He feels awful, sick to his stomach. He hurries to explain further, make it better somehow. "There's someone else."

"Someone else?" Betty repeats, stunned. Archie nods. "It didn't seem like there was someone else when you were kissing me just a few seconds ago."

"I forgot," Archie whispers. He feels like a monumental idiot. Betty looks at him with pure disgust. He imagines she would only think even less of him if she found out who. "You deserve better than this anyway," he says. "Better than me. I'm not good enough for you."

Betty shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. She makes for the door.

"Betty—" he pleads. She doesn't look back. She slams through the closet door and flees from the party. "Betty!" Archie calls, but he doesn't go after her.

"What did you do?" Veronica accuses, appearing beside him.

"I fucked up," Archie whispers. He looks to Cheryl, who seems very pleased with the way things turned out. He hates Cheryl. He hates himself more.


End file.
